


another shot of your love

by messagetoman



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Basically a lot of sex, Coming Untouched, Control, Denial of Feelings, Dom/sub Undertones, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, Hate Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Phone Sex, Power Dynamics, if that's even a thing, self hate, self-sabotaging relationship, zayn is a bit of dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messagetoman/pseuds/messagetoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They fuck like nothing ever happened and push away the fact that one of them is so in love with the other, and maybe the other is a little in love with them too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	another shot of your love

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure where this came from, but here it is.  
> This is the longest piece I've ever written and yea.  
> Hope you like it :)

He's not sure when this path of self-destruction and loathing started. 

He hates to admit it, but sometimes it got to him. Sometimes the comments, hate and rumours took their toll and left him feeling so inadequate and in despair, even though he knew that a large portion of it was untrue. It was hard not to be consumed by it all with the constant bombardment of media and fans, media and fans. 

That's how his life goes now. It was good. The attention, admiration, affection. He loved it all. But then it started to become a little too much. The flashes from the camera started to feel as though they burnt his eyes. The constant screaming of his name and of praises that all rolled into one, started to give him aches in his head and ears. The calls from his mother asking him if he had really slept with that underage girl in Sweden and why she had to read things about him in the media before she found out directly from him. It was too much. 

He had loved it, once. Now there's more of a resentment bubbling away inside of him. And yes, he did want this. Yes, he did want to be famous and rich. But if he knew it would be like this, then a part of him, he's not sure how large or small that part is, but a part of him wishes he could go back in time so he can stop it all. 

Stop his mother from forcing him to go to the audition. Stop himself from singing _"Let Me Love You."_ Stop himself from agreeing to be a part of One Direction. 

Sometimes, just sometimes, he wishes that he could stop it.

He thinks, he's not certain, but he thinks what pushed him over the edge was when the awful rumours about his sister having cancer started. He didn't care that he had been labelled a cheating, drug addict, anorexic terrorist. He didn't let it bother him...much. 

But the idea of anyone thinking negatively about his family, someone thinking that a 10 year old girl would have cancer, broke something inside of Zayn. And he's not sure how he, or if he even can mend whatever's broken. 

The other boys had given him his space when that, that what? rumour? No, it was more horrific than that in his eyes. In his eyes, it was the fucking devil's work. When it spread, they gave him his space. Then they took him to a bar and let him drink and it was acceptable and justified because _how fucking dare they?_

And then a week later when he was still drinking they didn't say much. Heck, they even gave him a drink or two. 

Though, when they realised that Zayn, was in somewhat of a downward spiral, that was so out of control and so quick to consume him that they only realised when it was too late, they were lost. What do you do when your friend is in a position like that? Because they had tried talking to him, even yelling at him. But he was impenetrable. Their words flew over his head and danced in the air around him until they just dulled down to a series of white noise that meant absolutely nothing. 

Management didn't care. He was still singing well and he was keeping up appearances. So it was fine. As long as he kept raking them in money, they couldn't give a flying fuck if he spent his time damaging his liver and his life. He just couldn't cause enough damage that might jeopardise his money making ability. And Zayn was content with that. If one less drink spared him the dreaded meetings with Management, then he deemed it a fair offer. 

The other boys, once in the privacy of their bus, cars or hotels, would roll their eyes as Zayn coiled in on himself. They learnt that their efforts were in vain and if anyone had any hope of seemingly fixing this broken boy, it had to be that boy himself. And that's what Zayn was right? After all he had started this a boy and he was immersed into a world even beyond adulthood. So you can't blame him for wanting to have a sulk every now and again...or every day. Can you?

Zayn would roll his eyes back at them and just scoff when the sound of one of their concerned voices called out, "Zayn" as he turned their backs to them, to the world, and disappeared into himself. 

-

He's not sure what actually makes him wait and stop when Harry calls after him one day. He's not sure, but he does stop outside his hotel door and faces Harry, who's walking over to him at a speed faster than what he would normally as though he can't believe Zayn actually stopped, but he's not going too fast to appear too eager. 

"I snuck something up. You want any?" Harry asks when he's at Zayn's side. 

Zayn does, he hadn't managed to sneak anything with him and it seems this is the only thing he'll be getting his hands on tonight. "Yea, sure." He replies flippantly. 

Harry beams. As in actually grins widely at Zayn, dimples and all. "Ok, just give me a mo and I'll get it from my room." 

He's not sure what "it" is but it has to be alcohol. Harry had never, or ever will bring up drugs with him. Zayn knows that to be a fact. "I'll be inside," Zayn says as he signals to his hotel room, "just lock the door when you come in ok."

Harry returns, after a minute or two and locks Zayn's door after himself. Zayn doesn't know what he has with him because Harry's hands are bare. He doesn't even have a backpack or anything on him. "Well? What is it?" Zayn asks, keeping his annoyance at bay because right now Harry holds the key to his escape. 

Harry smirks at him and reaches into the pocket of his trench coat. Zayn's slightly confused, because what could he possibly fit in that pocket if it's not drugs? But Harry does in fact pull out a bottle. It's small with what looks like a tinge of green. Harry moves towards Zayn, who’s sitting on the bed, and he can see the bottle more clearly now to know that it's absinth. 

"All I could get my hands on." Harry says sheepishly as though he doesn't want to upset Zayn and he feels the need to justify his choice. But Zayn doesn't care how Harry got the bottle, doesn't care that they're in America and it's illegal for Harry himself to get it. Because who the hell would call the police on one fifth of the world's biggest boy band?

"Nah, it's good." And it is. Absinth is a good choice, a few shots and it'll do the trick and leave Zayn feeling dizzy enough to forget who he is and what was making him want to forget it the first place. 

A small smile creeps onto Harry's face, feeling pleased with himself. "Here, you go first." Harry mumbles as he extends the bottle to Zayn. Ah, always gracious is Harry Styles. Harry sits down on the edge of the bed next to Zayn and watches Zayn open the bottle up. 

Zayn thinks that he should probably get up and find a cup for them to drink out of, but he doesn't particularly mind drinking straight from the bottle. He does that most nights anyway. But it is Harry's drink; he feels it would be polite to at least ask his permission, "You don't mind drinking straight from it yea?"

Harry's eyebrows arch up, "As in drink it straight. Not gonna mix it with anything from the mini-bar?" He asks a little concerned. 

Zayn wasn't planning on mixing the drink. He knows absinth burns on the way down, almost as bad as vodka does, but he doesn't mind the burn. It leaves him feeling warm afterwards. He doesn't want to laugh at Harry because he knows it would be rude, but he must have a smug smile on his face or something because Harry agrees. He thinks Harry really needs to get off his fucking high horse. 

"Ok fine, sure." Harry snaps, not liking being made a fool out of. 

Zayn takes the first drink. A large mouth full of it and swallows. His face scrunches up because he's forgotten how fucking awful absinth tastes on its own. "Here." He says as he shoves the bottle to Harry. 

Harry looks slightly unsure, but doesn't say anything. He just attaches the head of the bottle to his lips and takes a swing like Zayn had done. He splutters a little bit, “Fuck, that's strong." He says through a cough. 

"It's good." Zayn retorts as he takes the bottle back from Harry for another drink. 

They keep passing the bottle between the two of them and after about 20 minutes, Zayn can feel the effects of the alcohol kicking in. That's why absinth was a good choice, and he would praise Harry on this, but Zayn doesn't want to give him the satisfaction. 

"This is like déjà vu." Harry speaks as Zayn finishes with his gulp. He can hear the ever so slight slur of Harry's speech. Zayn's aware of what Harry's referring to. Of that one time during X Factor, where he and Harry had gotten really drunk all on their own. 

And now Zayn can't stop thinking about their time during X Factor and how much easier it was then. Well no, to be fair it wasn't easy because it was all new at the time and it had scared him senseless. But he's had so much experience with media now he would give anything to have that little amount of hype they had during X Factor with his experienced self now. His mind keeps reminiscing about that time, all those years ago. The dizziness is starting to intensify and Zayn can feel the alcohol sitting in his stomach and it's so warm. He's starting to feel too hot in the room. And he doesn't know if he's actually feeling hot from the alcohol or because Harry is looking at him and all Zayn is thinking about is the time they had sex during X Factor. 

"Yea." Zayn finally responds because he needs to fill the silence and distract his racing mind full of thoughts of Harry beneath him and all that control and power he had at that time. His eyes dart to Harry, whose lips are circling around the head of the bottle, those lips that are glistening with a layer of saliva from when Harry had just licked them, mixed with the promise of dizziness from the absinth. 

They're tempting. 

And Zayn's never been a strong person. Heck, look at him now. So he blames it on his lack of will power and his desire to never say no to something that would make him feel better than how horrible he feels now. 

That's why he kisses Harry. That's why he pushes Harry back onto the bed and licks at the taste of alcohol and the taste of just Harry himself into his own mouth. And Harry kisses back, so it just fuels Zayn's desire even more. He thinks this distraction is working because he's not even thinking anymore and no amount of alcohol had ever halted his thoughts, it had always just subsided them and made them easier to deal with. 

But this, this is consuming him to a whole new degree, one he had never experienced before. To a point where all his senses are just engulfed by Harry. Of his smell, the taste of him, those moans, the feel of him, and the sight of him beneath Zayn. 

And Zayn wants. He wants more. That's why he doesn't even flinch away when the remaining liquor tips out of the bottle soaking the area in between them. He stays above Harry and presses his mouth with so much force against those pink, tempting lips and it feels good. 

His jeans are starting to become painfully tight, and Harry's stupid dress shoes are scrapping the back of his legs as Harry's own legs circles around Zayn's in desperation. It hurts a bit, but Zayn doesn't mind an awful lot because he likes the reminder of how desperate Harry is. It makes him feel good, feel powerful. 

He starts grinding his hips down into Harry's, not pausing the kiss. Harry arches himself up into Zayn's touch and his hands grip onto the back of Zayn's shirt tighter than he had before. Zayn pulls back to catch his breath and he thinks it's worth it because he gets to look down at Harry panting beneath him, looking already ruined and full of lust. It's a pretty sight. 

Harry is the one to latch their lips together again, not waiting long enough for Zayn to do it himself. Always impatient is Harry Styles. Zayn gives in to him though, it's hard not to when he's such a good kisser. Zayn's head is spinning and Harry's fingers that are now intertwined in his hair aren’t helping with his dizziness. He keeps rutting down onto Harry, the friction providing some sense of relief to the tightness in his pants. Zayn doesn't know why he didn't pursue this, this thing, with Harry any further than that one time in X Factor, fuelled by the fear of something so new, and the thought that _‘hey I think I like boys’,_ and the other time after their drunken night out in Sydney fuelled by such an adrenalin rush of being so successful in another country. 

He doesn't want to miss out on the opportunity for another go at this though. Even if it's going to roll into another one off thing, fuelled by self-loathing and loneliness, which both of them will ignore and brush of as something insignificant come tomorrow morning. Zayn can tell that Harry is also thinking about where this potentially is going to lead to because he doesn't seem to mind Zayn slipping his shirt off. 

"Get it off." Zayn instructs as he straddles Harry and pulls the hem of Harry’s shirt up when he himself is now topless. Harry takes over and pulls the shirt off the remaining half of his torso and over his head. They’re bare chested and Zayn likes how pale Harry looks against his darker skin. He kisses Harry again but it's only short because these damned jeans are way too uncomfortable to be on for any second longer. Zayn stands up and Harry whines, actually whines at the loss of touch. The noise does something to Zayn because he undresses so quickly his head is spinning at such an alarming rate he might actually fall down. But he steadies himself and manages to even undo Harry's jeans and pulls them down to around his knees. He doesn't have the patience to take the jeans off completely because then he'd have to deal with Harry's shoes and that would take too much time. 

Zayn wants to get inside of Harry. He's so desperate for it. It's kind of insane though because this desire had come on so sporadically, it's very confusing. Though, Zayn doesn't ponder of the linguistics because Harry's waiting for him and the burn of want ignites within him again. He crawls back onto the bed and positions himself above Harry, his hands on either side of the curly haired boy's head. He kisses him roughly and moans of lust are escaping from them both. 

"Zayn." Harry grunts out. 

"Wanna fuck you Haz." Zayn says through his kisses. 

"Lube," Harry pants out, "need it." 

And Zayn groans in frustration. He doesn't have any fucking lube; he wasn't planning on fucking anyone. "Fuck." He spits out in anger. And he's angry at Harry now because why can't he just fuck him and why can't he just have some fucking lube on him? "Suck me off then?" Zayn says in the form of a question, but he doesn't wait long enough for Harry to either agree or disagree because he moves up and positions himself above Harry's head, straddling the younger boys’ chest. 

Harry looks up at him slightly startled and worried. Zayn doesn't know if Harry's ever given a blow job before, but he doesn't much care. He's straddling Harry's chest and he has his hard cock in his hand. He pushes the head of it towards Harry's lips, "C'mon, open." He grunts out and Harry does. Zayn shoves himself inside of him and slowly begins to thrust in and out. 

It's not what he imagined but it's satisfying and he loves the sight of Harry beneath him, his cock slipping inside of his mouth. It's not long until Zayn comes, the intensity of his orgasm hitting him hard enough for him to fall down on his side and onto the bed. 

He hears Harry's quick gasps of breath but doesn't have enough strength to check if the other boys ok. He doesn't have any strength to keep his eyes open. So Zayn sleeps. 

-

This continues for the remainder of the tour and Zayn’s awfully glad that it didn’t turn out to be a one off event again. Whenever they have the luxury of staying in a hotel room, instead of their cramped tour bus, Zayn fucks Harry. He had invested in some lube, which he stores in a side pocket of his luggage bag. 

It's always quick and dirty, a time of Zayn chasing an orgasm and embracing the control of the situation. It's also, always mean. And Harry takes it all, on his knees with his hands tied behind his back with whatever Zayn manages to find and his head pressed into the pillow as Zayn pounds into him relentlessly.

-

Zayn sometimes catches Harry tracing the finger shaped bruises on his pale hips, or rubbing his chafed wrists with a delicate smile on his face, a faraway gaze, lost in the mystery that is his thoughts. 

-

The other boys notice. They notice the shift in Zayn's behaviour, and that instead of retreating to his bunk he opts to sit next to Harry, a possessive hand rested on the younger boys’ thigh. They notice Harry and Zayn entering the same hotel room and not emerging until the morning, when both of them look thoroughly fucked. 

It's unhealthy at the best of times. It's fucking dangerous a majority of times. It's driven by so many character flaws that only intensify the problems that both boys have. Harry's insecurities allow him to be used. And Zayn's desire for distraction and control allows him to ruin someone he had considered a best friend. 

"Fuck, I hate you," Zayn grunts out, "stop being such a fucking tease." He growls as he pushes Harry's head down the remaining half of his length. 

Harry takes it all with a smirk around the reddened cock. He thinks Zayn may actually hate him sometimes, but he doesn't focus on that part too much. Rather, choosing to focus on that part of Zayn that's desperate for Harry. 

And it's not just Zayn who's desperate. Harry is himself. Handing himself over to Zayn and having the ability to have someone control you shouldn't be so appealing to Harry when so much of his life is already so controlled. But this, this is so different. This is the sort of control where Harry doesn't have to think about anything, where he can just let go. 

Zayn's grunting and moaning, it sounds almost painful. Zayn can see the tears trickling from the corner of Harry’s eyes and he can feel his cock brushing at the back of his throat, which he knows will leave Harry’s voice huskier than usual tomorrow. 

Zayn likes how Harry’s voice sounds after he's given a blowjob. He likes the reminder of being in control and his momentarily escape. 

Zayn's trying to hold back his orgasm. He doesn't want this to end. Doesn't want to let go of his strong grasp on Harry's curls that is holding the boy down, doesn't want the look Harry's given him; as though Zayn's one of the Wonders of the world, to disappear. He wants the moment to last longer, he wants to keep his thoughts of self-hate at bay a little more and just lose himself in this world of him and Harry. 

It's stupid though, because any other time when Harry's not aiding him towards and orgasm, Zayn can't stand the boy. He truly does hate Harry sometimes, and that's what makes this all that much better. That Harry, despite that all will give him whatever he needs. 

He doesn't hate Harry himself. He hates Harry, from One Direction. It doesn't make sense because he's only one person, but Harry from One Direction is the Harry the world sees. Not the Harry that gives amazing blowjobs, no. But the Harry with the dimpled smile, that everyone loves, the sweet one that can do no wrong, the one you want your child to bring home and introduce him as their boyfriend. 

And Zayn, from One Direction, well he's quite the contrast. He's sharp, where Harry's soft. He smoulders, while Harry grins. He's the mysterious one, the _"bad boy"_ you warn your kids about and tell them to stay away from. 

So Zayn's a little jealous, a little resentful.

Sue him. 

But it doesn't matter that he hates that part of Harry, because Zayn gets his other part, whole heartedly. 

-

It's not only fatal for the two of them though. Because since One Direction was formed, individualism seized to exist and everything now happened with the consideration of how it impacted on the band. 

Zayn, who was withdrawn before, had effectively brought Harry into his little bubble. It meant that Harry spent less time with the other and more time appeasing Zayn. Like a puppy trailing after his owner, with the chance of getting a treat at the end if he's good. 

And the more the others think about it, the more it resonates with truth. 

When they're sitting down having a meal, and Zayn buggers off to have a smoke, Harry gets up to follow, with a certain eagerness of _'wait, I'm coming too.'_ Zayn stalls his steps, as though he's aware that Harry is coming after him, and the boys see the proud and smug smile that crosses his face when Harry reaches his side. They can imagine a praise of _'good boy'_ emitting from Zayn, because it seems so fitting to the situation. 

It's concerning. It's terrifying. It's wrong on so many levels so Louis needs to say something. Needs it to stop before it goes too far and they both destroy themselves. 

"You need to stop whatever you two are doing." He says flatly to Zayn one day. 

"What?" Zayn asks with a furrow of his eyebrows. 

"Don't play dumb, it's unbecoming." Louis replies. 

"Don't be nosy, it's unbecoming." Zayn fires back. 

It has nothing to do with Louis, what he and Harry choose to do, has nothing to do with him. Really, it does because after all, they are in a band together, but Zayn doesn't care. He knows he's hurting Harry, not just with the bruises and the roughness, but he probably thinks that he's mentally screwing up Harry too. But still, it has nothing to do with Louis. 

"Fucks sake," Louis drowns out, he sounds tired, and Zayn thinks he probably is. He can imagine him losing sleep over his worry for Harry. He wants to laugh at his naivety, because he really knows nothing. Zayn wonders how Louis would react if he got to see how good Harry was, how desperate he got for Zayn. But he'll never get to see that, because that part of Harry is only for Zayn. "Just whatever you're doing to Harry fucking stop it." He says finally. 

And if Zayn wasn't angry before, he certainly is now. Though he doesn't show it, "What makes you think it's not Harry doing something to me?" 

"Harry wouldn't." Louis says weakly. It's a loaded remark, _'Harry wouldn't; he's good, and you’re bad.' 'Harry wouldn't; he's light and you're dark.' 'Harry wouldn't; you would.'_

"Oh right, of course Harry wouldn't. Because I'm the fucking terrorist and he's just the sweet, innocent boy." Zayn growls back. He's being unfair, he knows that. He knows the other boys get just as much shit as he does, but frankly right now, he doesn't give a fuck. 

"Zayn," Louis pleads, "I didn't-"

Zayn knows that Louis didn't say that, and he didn't even mean that. But he wants Louis to piss right off, so emotional blackmail seems to be the right path to achieve that. "Don't." Zayn cuts him off. 

Louis may be a nosy fuck, but if he thinks that he's unintentionally offended Zayn, he's not going to hurt him any further and gets up and leaves. Zayn waits until Louis turns the corner to let the devilish, triumphant smile appear on his face. 

He needs a release. Needs to let the anger and the hate disappear for a while. 

He thinks Harry would look quite lovely with a new mark on his collarbone and maybe some bruises along his inner thighs. 

So, that night, he sucks on Harry's neck for so long the mark will lasts for days. And the next morning when they walk down to breakfast and the others see it, see the _'he's mine'_ stamped boldly on Harry's neck, they don't say anything. 

And when Lou's doing Harry's hair and scowls at him, telling him "Makeup are going to kill you for this", Zayn can't help but feel something warm erupt in him when he sees Harry, fucking blushing as Harry's fingers skim over the mark so fondly. 

-

Zayn also invested in some cream he applies to Harry's hole whenever he's particularly rough. He tells himself he does it so he can fuck Harry later on, without the worry of blood being involved which would totally kill his erection. He lets himself believe he's doing it for his own benefit, not at all to ease Harry's pain. 

Harry's lying on his stomach, his head turned to look back at Zayn, as Zayn applies the cream to his hole, with gentle fingers.  Zayn flicks his gaze up to Harry and sees how the younger boys tries his hardest not to smile at the sight of the concentration on Zayn face and the act of softness, so different to what Harry usually gets from Zayn. He looks back down, suddenly feeling shy and he realises that what he’s doing is in fact quite intimate, but he tries not to focus on that.

"You're not as bad as you think y'know." Harry mumbles at him. 

Zayn looks up again from his task at Harry, "What?" 

"You're not as bad as you convince yourself to be." Harry says again. 

"Just because I put some cream on your fucking arse, it doesn't make me a good person." Zayn sneers, as he goes back to tending to Harry's used hole as an attempt to convey his desire to end this conversation. Zayn didn’t mind the looks Harry gave him that practically translated his thoughts, however, he did mind when Harry openly stated these things as if it was ok to do so. It wasn’t ok. It just complicated matters and made these emotions so much more immediate and Zayn was simply not ready to delve into these feelings and try and decipher what they meant.

"Don't." Harry whispers out. His head turned away from Zayn now, facing the other direction.  

"Don't what, Harry?" Zayn says harshly. 

"Don't push me away every time I get close." Harry's pressing his face into the pillow now, his arms wrapping around the pillow too. His voice is so weak, Zayn thinks he may cry. 

Harry does cry that night; Zayn hears it, naked and alone in his hotel room after Zayn leaves, muttering to himself something about "No feelings, just sex". Before Zayn had left he saw Harry’s attempt to block out what he was saying by placing a pillow atop his head. He was being cruel; he would be the first person to admit it. He knew that this, whatever this fucked up thing was between them, wasn’t just sex alone. Harry, clearly had a better understanding of what this was, better than Zayn did. Zayn just kept trying to keep this just as a physical experience; he didn’t want to elevate it to anything more significant than just that.

He thought that Harry would have given up already, on this _thing_ and on him. He thought that the conversations Louis had with Harry, about how bad of a person Zayn was, would finally sink in and Harry would wake up to himself and leave.

But he doesn’t.

And Zayn’s glad. 

He’s glad that that it doesn’t stop Harry from going and seeing Zayn the next time they are in a hotel.

They fuck like nothing ever happened and push away the fact that one of them is so in love with the other, and maybe the other is a little in love with them too. 

-

Harry may have never brought drugs up with him, but Zayn certainly has. 

"Here, try it." Zayn offers the tiny pill, sitting on the tip of his index finger. They're sitting cross legged on the king sized bed, naked knees pressed against each other. 

Harry's reluctant, it's clear by the worrying look on his face, and the lip tucked between his teeth. "What is it?" Harry drawls out, his slow speech emphasised with the added fatigue after an orgasm. 

Zayn stops the roll of the eyes he so desperately wants to do. "Just some ecstasy." 

Harry gulps, Zayn can see his Adam's apple extrude with harsh swallow. "Is it safe?" 

"Harry, it's a fucking pick me up so we can go for round two. Get over it." Zayn says mockingly. "Stop acting like such a snob." Harry turns his head away, hurt but what Zayn had just said. Zayn sighs, "Look, I'm not some chav from Bradford, despite what you think. I have enough money to buy good drugs." 

"I don't think that," Harry whispers out, "I don't think you're a chav." 

Zayn thinks there should be an _'anymore'_ tagged to the end of that sentence, but he lets it slide. "C'mon, take it." He extends his hand again, and this time Harry accepts it, mouth wide open as Zayn drops the small pill in. 

They go for round two. And then an hour later, when the effects of the drugs still haven't worn off, they go for round three. 

-

When the tour ends, and they're finally relieved from their duties, the boys all go their separate ways, all head off home. 

Harry scurries up to Zayn before he heads out and kisses him hastily on the lips. 

It's a goodbye kiss, but at the same time, it's not. It’s one laced with a plea of _'don't forget me'_ and the promise of _'I'll see you'._

-

When Zayn gets to his house, he feels cold. He thinks it has something to do with the fact that the place hasn't been lived in, more suited for the role of a Bed and Breakfast, than a home or the feature in one of the monthly renovation magazines. 

It's so, so sterile. And impractical, with white walls, and white leather everywhere. It's unnerving and Zayn doesn't want to be there any longer than necessary. 

He has a restless sleep the first two nights back. Zayn blames it on the lack of a satisfying orgasm, not the missing body that radiates warmth in the middle of the night, and the head of curls that tickle him awake. 

When he wakes up, he's met again with the uneasiness of being in a place that's his, but isn't. 

-

Zayn visits his family on his third day back. He's met with warm smiles and hugs and kisses that strike at his very core because he misses this. He sits at the table while his mum serves dinner. It's all so familiar and it renders him still because it was only a few years ago that this was his whole life and he had known nothing else. But it feels like it's been a life time rather than a few years. 

While he's eating his chicken, "I know how much you love your chicken Zen" his mum had said, saying his name in the accent he was surrounded with growing up. The accent that's so uncommon to him now, it makes him smile hearing it pronounced that way. So while he's eating, he tries to block the thoughts that pollute his lightened mood. The thoughts that are plaguing, because how many birthdays has he missed? What's this he hears about Donyia having a boyfriend? And where's Borris, he really misses that dog? 

Their life, as painful as it is to admit, still goes on without him. Life doesn't stop for anybody, and Zayn ought to learn that by know. 

So he bought them the house, with the attempt to have an everlasting presence with them. To fill the void in their lives where he used to be. Because if they're in the house he bought, surely they're forced to not forget about him. Surely it's a constant reminder. 

He hates that he's feeling inadequate and forgotten because his family have literally invested this whole day to him. 

Zayn hates himself a little more than before, because even surrounded by the people he loves, he places an ominous mood over the whole setting. 

And right now, with them sitting in the living room and their attempt to "catch Zayn up", Zayn wishes he was back in his house by himself. At least there he knows he isn't missing out on anything. 

-

_You in London? Xx_

Harry texts him one day. 

Zayn types out a simple, _yea I am_. He'd come back after only three days with his family, unable to handle it all. 

 _Excellent :) come to mine Friday night at like 8? I'm having a hangout xx_ Comes Harry's reply. 

Zayn wasn't going to reply, but he thinks about Harry just waiting for a text message and being upset when it doesn’t come. So Zayn types, _see ya then_ and presses send. After a few seconds, he sends an additional message of just _xx_ and doesn't check his phone for the remainder of the day. 

-

It's the night before Harry's get together and Zayn, once again is plagued by the inability to get a good night’s rest. He doesn't want to wait another day until he sees Harry again, and the chance for a satisfying orgasm. So, while lying in bed he calls Harry.

"Zayn?" Harry says his tone a mixture of both surprised and pleased. Zayn can just picture him smiling and biting his bottom lip.

"Yea, hey." Zayn mumbles. He didn't make this phone call for small talk though. "What're you doing? You alone?" 

"Yea, I'm alone and I'm just in bed." Harry says nonchalantly. 

"Good." Zayn smirks to himself. "Get your kit off then." 

"What?" Comes Harry's shocked tone. 

"You heard me, c'mon Haz." 

"What, why?" Harry tries again. 

"Because I want to get off." 

"Oh." Zayn ignores the clear disappointment in Harry's voice. 

"C'mon Haz, please." Zayn blames his desperation on the fact that he's craving a satisfying orgasm, not craving Harry. 

"Ok," Harry caves in, "what do I do?" 

"Put me on speaker and get undressed."

"As in everything?" Harry voice sounds further away and Zayn knows he's on speaker phone now. He suppresses his smile as he feels the sense of control returning to him. 

"Yes." 

There's some rustling across the phone line as Harry fumbles with taking his clothes off. Zayn's tempted to ask what he's wearing, wants to know if he's in his skinny jeans or in a pair of track pants. He doesn't know what's driving this curiosity, maybe the desire to know what Harry's like when he's on his own; away from the media, the world, Zayn. But Zayn keeps his mouth shut. "You done?" Zayn asks when the rustling seizes. 

"Yea." There's a little tremor in Harry's voice and Zayn smirks again. He can picture him in his bed, alone and naked, with Zayn's voice the only thing guiding him on what to do.

"Get your lube, wanna hear you get off love." Zayn purrs. Harry moans across the phone line, and Zayn smirks again. "Are you hard Haz?"

"Yes." He replies embarrassingly. 

"You're already hard for me, aw love we haven't even started yet." 

"Zee, please." 

"Thought I already taught you how to be patient? You know I like it when you listen to me like a good slut."Harry moans again. "Isn't that what you are right? A slut."

"Y-yes." Comes Harry's chocked reply.

"Yea, know you are love. Now get the lube and put it on your fingers. Want you to play with your hole." Zayn instructs. Harry's panting across the phone line and Zayn's starting to also get embarrassingly hard. So he slips off his pyjama bottoms and then his underwear off to free his growing erection. 

"Just play with your hole first. Want to hear you whine. Let me hear how desperate you can get baby." Zayn says with a ragged breath. Harry's moaning, sounds into Zayn's ear where he has the phone pressed tightly against him. When Zayn's satisfied with the level of Harry's desperation, he lets out "Good boy. Now, put one finger in there Harry. Just one."

"Ok." Harry says weakly. 

"All the way in straightaway. You know how I do it." Zayn wonders how tight Harry would be right now, having gone unfucked for almost two weeks. He knows that to be a fact because Harry's strangely devoted to him. Zayn doesn't think about the fact that he also hasn't fucked anyone during this time either. "That's it baby." Zayn says. He has his hand wrapped around his leaking length now, slowly pumping himself.

"Ahh, Zayn." Harry groans. 

"Feel good? You like being filled up don't you, you slut." Zayn loves dropping that word. He knows Harry gets off on it and Zayn is the first to admit he has a mean preference for humiliation. "C'mon, add another one Harry, I know you can take it right now." He hasn't given Harry much time to stretch out to the size of one finger, but he knows Harry won't argue against his instruction.

"Za-Zayn." Harry whines. "Want you."

"I know baby. Fuck, I wish I was there. Wish it was my fingers in that pretty arse of yours. I miss it." Zayn admits. He's pumping himself faster now. Harry’s whines and moans are a major turn on; he’s always loved how vocal Harry got from him. He gives him a little more time to grow accustomed to two fingers before Zayn says, "Reckon you can get a third in there now Haz? Or you too tight?" 

"I can. I can. Please." 

Zayn's cock twitches in his hand, the _'please'_ echoing in his mind. He's filled with the sense of control again, the fact that Harry won't add another finger without Zayn's order get his heart pumping. "Ok, ok. Yea, one more baby. Stretch that hole Haz." He's glad that Harry's too lost in his desperation to realise the shake and excitement in Zayn's voice. 

"Zayn want you." Harry moans again. 

"Can't wait to see you and fill you up proper Haz. Your fingers feel good?" 

"Yea." Harry's breathes out. 

"Better than mine?" 

"No."

"Let anyone else play in that hole Haz?" He says a little more possessively. 

"No. You, just you." Harry says breathlessly.

"Say that again." Zayn pants out, his hand jerking himself at a rapid pace. 

"Just you, only you. You're the best, it's only ever you." 

Zayn has the most powerful orgasm he thinks he's ever experienced when Harry speaks those words. He comes with a loud moan and a ripple effect that shakes his whole body. 

He gets a good night’s sleep, the sound of Harry's ragged breath still echoing through the phone that's pressed to his ear. 

-

Zayn's been to Harry's place a couple of times. But he's never seen it like this. The times he had come it was him and maybe one of the other lads. Now the place is full, not to the brim that it's uncomfortable, but a solid thirty other persons. Zayn doesn't recognise everyone, but the people he does, he knows are some of Harry's nearest and dearest. 

He didn't show up to the party till nine o’clock, despite what Harry had told him. He's glad of that because if everyone's already here he can pick and choose who he wants to say hi to, not the other way around, because when Zayn had said he recognised some people, he probably only recognises about five. Everyone else is a stranger to him. 

Nick Grimshaw is the first person Zayn greets. He's standing with another guy Zayn has met before, someone that also works at the radio station, but Zayn for the life of him cannot remember the guys' name. They exchange a few words and Zayn's already feeling bored.

He just really wants to see him. It almost been two weeks since he last saw a glimpse of that curly haired fucker. 

"You seen Harry?" Zayn asks casually. He wonders if they can hear the desperation in his voice that he’s trying to cover up.

"He was in the kitchen last I saw." Nick replies with an indifferent shrug. 

"Better go coax him into making me a drink." Zayn said with a smiled he's learned to master after years of media training. 

All that training has seemingly paid off, as on his quest to see Harry, Zayn's stopped multiple times to speak to people. People, who already know who he is and he maintains a short and polite, unsubstantial conversations with them. 

Zayn can't remember the last time he had to introduce himself to someone. 

He quite misses it. 

When Zayn does finally spot Harry, who, as Nick has said, is in the kitchen, he bites back the smile that had threatened to appear on his face. Harry has his back to Zayn, hands busy with conjuring up blue coloured drinks, in tall, glass cups. 

He sneaks up behind Harry, and making sure no one is looking, places a quick kiss and then a bite to Harry's neck. 

"Jesus!" Harry jumps but visibly relaxes when he sees that it's Zayn. "Mother fucker, you scared the shit out of me."

"Wanted to get your attention. I've been here for more than 10 minutes and I've gone unnoticed by you. That's unacceptable host behaviour. I'm deeply disappointed." Zayn teases. 

"Well, for what it counts, you have my undivided attention now." Harry's tone laced with cheekiness as he turns to face Zayn, blue drinks on the counter long forgotten. 

"I'm glad of that, because I bought you something." Zayn smirks, while Harry only quirks up an eyebrow as Zayn's hand dives into the gift bag he had brought in with him. He retrieves out the bottle of absinth he had purchased and offers it to Harry, smirk still intact. 

Zayn's eyes are trained on Harry's face as the younger boy accepts the bottle. He observes as Harry's eyes scan the bottle, and a shade of light pink covers his cheeks at the realisation that it's absinth. When Harry looks up at him, the blush is slightly darker and he's bitting his lip, "An excellent choice, your gracious host is very appreciative." 

"Do you reckon we could drink some of that now and you could show me how appreciative you are?" Zayn suggests, taking a small step closer to Harry. 

"Zayn." Harry gulps. "Zayn, don't do this right now. You know I won't say no."

"That's what I'm hoping for." Zayn teases.

"Surely, leaving my party, for an undetermined period, is unacceptable host behaviour." Harry reasons. 

"Oh but love, it's determined, I want to have you for the rest of the night and then some, tomorrow morning." The blush returns to Harry's cheeks more violently now.

Zayn wants to press on, wants to see how much he'll have to say until Harry caves in (like he always does), but he's interrupted by one of the many strangers at this party, entering the kitchen. Harry introduces her as Sarah Nicole, a girl that he went to school with. Zayn extends his hand, with a "Nice to meet you" sounding from him. That's all he says because he's scared that if he opens his mouth again he might tell Sarah Nicole that he doesn't understand why she has two first names, it's silly. And he's quite scared that that might upset Harry and thus, jeopardise his chances of getting laid tonight. So he bites his tongue thankful that Harry suggests that they all go out and join the rest of the party. 

When they're in Harry's living room, they part ways with Sarah Nicole, and head towards the direction of some other strangers, "Just some people I want you to meet", Harry had said to Zayn with his award winning grin. 

Zayn may be miserable a majority of the time, but that is not information for the world to know. So he humours Harry and plays along with the happy-go-lucky persona that Zayn, generally reserves for the media. Though, when he quite frankly cannot handle it any longer, and the fake smile starts to make his cheeks ache, he goes outside for a breather, and laughs on the inside at his irony of having a smoke.

This time on his own, allows Zayn to sort through his thoughts of the fact that Harry, after all these years, now all of a sudden has taken an interest in introducing Zayn to many of his childhood mates. He brushes it off as something insignificant, because he won’t allow himself to believe that it’s anything but that. He also brushes off the fact that he’s the only one out of the lads that are here, even though he knows that Liam and Louis are both definitely in London too.

Eventually, Zayn ventures back inside, two cigarettes lighter than when he first came in. He makes his way to the kitchen, and pours himself a scotch and coke, that no matter how many times he drinks, seemingly can never perfect the ratio of scotch to coke for the drink to be pleasant enough for his liking. With a too light of a drink for Zayn’s penchant, he exits the kitchen and re-enters the main living area, too lazy to attempt and resurrect the drink. He spots Harry almost immediately, chatting with some friends. Zayn sips on his scotch and coke and observes the scene before him. Harry’s relaxed demeanour, and with a smile that only just shows his dimples is a mixture between the One Direction Harry and the Harry that’s reserved for privacy.

This is yet another part to Harry, not like the part Zayn has the pleasure of knowing, and Zayn’s simply just intrigued by the complexity that is Harry Styles. It’s an odd experience watching Harry interact with others. Zayn had never much paid attention to it before, but now he simply cannot tear his gaze away from the curly haired boy. He’s obviously very captivating, Zayn had always known that. But to see the effects of his personality work on his friends rather than on strangers is something completely foreign to Zayn.

Zayn’s struck by a sensation of jealousy. Jealousy over the fact that Harry, has such an appeal and easiness to his personality and that’s something which Zayn doesn’t possess.

And more drastically, a sense of jealousy due to the fact that Zayn simply does not want to share Harry with anyone. Harry has a certain magnetism, where people can’t help but be attracted to him, and he’s seemingly oblivious to the impact he has on others, Zayn being one of those people. He wants to take Harry away from everyone else, away  from this party and keep him as his own, hidden from the world for his pleasure alone.

It’s selfish and unjustified, but that’s just the way Zayn is.

He’s walking in Harry’s direction with a sense of determination, and more embarrassingly so, with a sense of eagerness, that Zayn hopes is not too obvious. Zayn eases himself into the conversation with Harry and some of his friends. Harry gives him a dimpled smile when Zayn reaches his side that makes something warm spread throughout him, and he’s fairly sure that it’s not the scotch. He places a possessive hand on the small of Harry’s back and hides away his grin by taking a sip from his drink when Harry practically sinks back into his touch.

Much of the night follows the suit of Zayn keeping a close presence to Harry, simply because he can’t exactly say _‘he’s mine, back the fuck off’_ , every time someone comes near.

-

Finally, when everyone has left, past two am, they’re alone and if Zayn wanted, if he truly wanted to he could finally say out loud _‘he’s mine’_ , but something in him just won’t let that happen.

Zayn disappears to go to the bathroom as Harry finishes saying goodbye to his guests and even paying for the cab fare for those that are too drunk to drive. He's so nice. So delicate and considerate and Zayn wants nothing more than to ruin him. To leave him quivering and dishevelled, so far from his composed natural self. To taint that porcelain skin with marks from his teeth and rash from his stubble. To pull apart the threads until he's an unravelled mess in Zayn's hands.

Zayn wants. He wants all the parts of Harry, what he's willing to give and what Zayn will forcefully take. He doesn't care he just wants. There isn't much that Zayn would have to forcefully acquire though, because Harry is so willing to give parts of himself away to anyone that shows him any act of affection; even if that is abusive sex.

Once the house is empty Harry, is the one that searches Zayn out and before Zayn has the chance to say anything, Harry is launching himself forward and soon his pink, soft lips are pressed against Zayn's. The kiss is harsh; all clashing teeth and clinging hands, with bodies pressed tightly against one another and rutting hips. It's desperate and heated, ragged breaths echoing in the hallway in front of the bathroom. Zayn's back is pressed up against the wall, pinned there by Harry, who has his hands gripping onto Zayn as though he were a lifeline. Zayn's hands are clasped onto Harry's arse, which he uses to pull Harry even closer into him. 

"Bed," Zayn breathes out, lips still brushing against Harry's, "now."

He doesn't need to repeat himself, because Harry starts to guide them hastily towards his bedroom, not breaking their kiss. They fumble through the house, Zayn almost falls and he's bumped his elbow three times on the walls already, but he's not entirely bothered, because _fuck_. He had missed Harry, sure. But this reunion ignites such a strong passion and longing within Zayn that's completely and utterly terrifying. 

They reach Harry's room before Zayn can delve into those worrying thoughts any further and he's grateful for the distraction of shedding clothes. "Want you." Harry says into his mouth as he slips his shirt off of himself. "Want you so bad." 

Zayn groans, the _'want **you** '_ sounding through his mind. "Fuck." He grits out and then bites on Harry's lower lip to try and find a sound to distract him. He's successful as Harry keens the moment Zayn bites down on his lip. Zayn's fumbling with his top conflicted because he wants to take it off, but that would mean tearing his lips from Harry's. And he's not quite ready to do so, especially since he hadn't done this in almost two weeks. He's desperately desperate. 

"C'mon, Zee please." Harry pants as he pulls back and tugs at Zayn's top. 

"Fuck," Zayn manages again, "yea, fuck, ok." He stretches the top over his head until his bare chested like Harry. "Get your jeans off." Zayn leaves the _'I wanna see you'_ unsaid, wanting to keep this light and insignificant. 

Harry’s only response is a nod as he fumbles with his tight, tight, _tight_ skinny leg jeans. It’ ungraceful to say the least, but Zayn doesn’t care. He just wants Harry bare and exposed for him. He’s stood still, his eyes taking in the sight of Harry who finally manages to pull his legs free of the jeans. Even in the dark of the night, the moon acting as their only light source, Harry still looks breathtakingly beautiful.

 And he’s all Zayn’s.

When Harry stands straight again, Zayn moves forward and attaches their lips. It’s a different type of kiss; slower, more tentative even. Zayn moves them towards Harry’s double bed, and they ease themselves onto it, somehow managing to not break their locked lips. Zayn stays above Harry, kissing his lips before he gets the desire to mark Harry as _his._

He had to share Harry with everyone tonight, and he doesn’t want that. Not really. Not at all. So he sucks on Harry’s neck, glad that they’re on a break as he can leave as many marks as he pleases.

“Zee,” Harry pants, who has his hands locked into Zayn’s hair as Zayn continues to suck a mark on Harry’s neck, “take your jeans off, please.”

Zayn bites on the skin where he was sucking causing Harry to let out a hiss, before he stands up and sheds himself of his remaining clothes. He hears the rip in his jeans that sits across his knees expanding at his recklessness of speedily taking them off, but he doesn’t care in the slightest. “Where’s the lube?” Zayn asks when he’s undressed.

Harry’s laying on the bed, propped up on his elbows looking at Zayn, his lips between his teeth before he answers, “Top drawer.” with a nod of his head to the left, where the bedside cabinet is. Zayn moves towards it, rummages through the items in the top drawer, before finally finding the lube. He doesn’t spot any condoms though, even looks in the second drawer but it’s filled with Harry’s underwear alone.

Before Zayn can stop himself, process what the implications are, he says, “I’m clean.” He’s facing Harry now, who only swallows thickly. He had thought about it a couple of times, fucking Harry without a condom, how good it would feel for him. But it’s a major step. A major step that only messes up this mess and entangles more emotions and signifies a promise of staying clean for Harry. And _what the fuck_. Because what is he saying? Why is he committing to something that he doesn’t have a clue of what it is?

 “So am I,” Harry says weakly. The urgent and lust filled atmosphere that had previously consumed the room has long disappeared. There’s a certain ominous and serious mood that has taken over as both of them contemplate what this would mean.

Zayn can still back out of this, he can still check the back pockets of his jeans or maybe in his wallet for a condom, but he simply doesn’t want to. “You want to do this?” He says instead.

Harry nods again more shyly this time, “Yes, definitely.”

_Definitely._

The _‘definitely’_ sheds Zayn of any of the doubts he has, of any of the thoughts that are threatening the possibility of having Harry wholly. The _‘definitely’_ signifies the desperation and the loyalty and the complete and utter fixation Harry holds towards Zayn and Zayn loves it. So he fumbles to the end of the bed and sits on his knees, with the lube by his side and without a condom. He bites back the smile that’s itching to appear.

Harry begins to turn around to lie on his stomach, in the position of how they usually do it. But Zayn doesn’t want that. “Stop,” he says and places a hand on Harry’s hip before he manages to flip himself around, “stay like this.” He makes his voice stronger; praying the tremor in his voice is not obvious. Harry only gazes up at him with wide eyes and a shy and triumphant smile. Zayn looks away because he doesn’t want to think about it.

He’s just trying a new position.

That’s it.

It has nothing to do with the fact that he wants to see Harry’s face when he enters him with nothing else between them.

“Knees up.” Zayn orders, wanting a sense of familiarity and control to return to the scene as he lubes up his fingers to open Harry up.  Harry does so immediately, holding his knees back with his hands, leaving him completely exposed to Zayn. With his index finger, Zayn tauntingly drags the digit across Harry’s rim. He circles Harry’s rim with his finger a few times, waiting for Harry’s whines to sound.

“Zayn,” Zayn doesn’t have to wait long until Harry soon does whine, “please.”

With a couple more rubs to Harry’s hole, Zayn eases his first finger in and Harry groans in pleasure. “Missed this,” Zayn says honestly, “so much,” He continues as he thrusts his finger in and out.

“Missed _you,_ ” comes Harry’s ragged reply. Zayn’s eyes snap up to look at Harry, slightly startled by the admission and how it only emphasises the seriousness of this current situation. But he pushes it away and is thankful that Harry had his eyes momentarily closed in bliss and can’t seen the blush that has consumed the apples of Zayn’s cheeks.

He continues to thrust his finger in and out of Harry, the sound of the wetness of the lube and Harry’s shallow breathing mixing throughout the silent room. Zayn adds a second finger and Harry only pulls his knees back further, giving Zayn more access. Zayn’s growing very desperate, his cock sitting flushed against his stomach, his precome only increasing with each passing moment. “Can’t wait to get in you Haz. Gonna feel so good.” Zayn says as he works his fingers in and out of Harry.

“Please.” Harry only groans.

Zayn’s tempted to enter him now, but he knows that Harry at least needs three fingers to be comfortably stretched out, and without the added easefulness of a condom, Zayn doesn’t want to take any risk. “Soon babe,” Zayn says as he pushes his third finger in past Harry’s rim, only causing the curly haired boy to keen. Zayn’s hand is moving sloppily, but he isn’t concerned with elegance and poised actions right now, simply just wants to get this done as soon as possible so he can fuck Harry. He’s excited at the prospect of having Harry in a new and complete way and at how good Harry will feel. “You ready for me?”

“Yes, please, yes.”

“So desperate for my cock, love when you beg for me like a good slut.” Zayn states as he slips his fingers out and with his hast; he fumbles with opening the lube bottle. He finally manages to open the darn thing and squirts a generous amount of lube onto his rock hard cock. “Let me here you baby, let me hear how much you want me to fuck you.”

“Zayn, fuck please, please I want your cock so bad.” Harry begs as he only pulls back at his knees. He looks beautiful like this, Zayn thinks, with the desperate whines and matted hair all just for Zayn to see. He’s consumed again with the selfish desire to not share Harry with anyone. And that’s when he enters him.

“Oh fuck, Harry,” Zayn grits out once he pushes himself in fully. “Oh fuck, feel so good,” Zayn groans as he begins to move his hips slightly. He doesn’t want to move much faster, engrossed by the need to feel Harry without the added layer of a condom between them. It’s different. Not drastically so, but there is enough of a difference for Zayn’s head to spin. He thinks it’s more to do with the idea of the situation, the seriousness and intimacy of the act. The fact that Zayn can have Harry like this. “Jesus, you’re so good. So warm and wet,” Zayn knows he’s mumbling but he can’t stop.

“Zayn, faster, please move.” Harry moans. And who is Zayn to deny him? So Zayn snaps his hips faster, his climax edging at an alarmingly fast and embarrassing rate than it would normally. But he can’t help but be so turned on by this all. “Fuck, Zayn, yes right there!” Harry moans.

Zayn can’t even manage to string a sentence together; his only responses are grunts and the occasional ‘fuck’ whenever Harry says words of praise, or more evilly, clenches around Zayn. Though, when his orgasm is near with each passing thrust, Zayn mumbles out, “Gonna fill you up baby, gonna be filled with my come and you’ll be _mine._ Don’t want to share you with no one baby.” Zayn blames the fact that he finally manages to say what he’s been thinking all night on the orgasm that’s fogging his mind and his ability to sustain a logical train of thought that consists of anything besides the drumming of H _arry, Harry, Harry_.

“Fuck yes, make me yours Zayn,” Harry begs, “make me yours.”

Zayn reaches his climax then, shooting his load into Harry. He gasps when it hits him, truly taken aback by the force of it. He feels his sperm directly on his penis and shudders as he thinks of Harry being full of his come. He goes to slide out, his cock feeling sensitive and he’s too tired to stay up on his knees for much longer, but he’s stopped by Harry’s hand, which curls around his hip, “No. Stay. Please.” Harry near whispers, causing another round of shudders to go through Zayn. He pushes himself back in and Harry’s hand that was on his hip slides up to Zayn’s neck and pulls him forward to lock their lips together in a careful and soft kiss.

Zayn’s head is spinning with the intimacy of this all; with the sheer _lovingness_ in these actions and he’s not quite sure how he feels about it. Truthfully, he doesn’t think he minds it all that much.

His cock is softening in Harry’s hole, yet the stay like that, lazily kissing and Zayn doesn’t let his mind think of anything else besides kissing Harry. He has his eyes closed shut in a relaxed manner and he doesn’t think it’s just the orgasm that’s made him feel loose and less tense; it’s all to do with Harry.

He eventually pulls out and lays down besides Harry, head rested on the pillow. Harry moves closer to him, laying his head on Zayn’s chest. Their heavy breaths are the only sound in the room, and it stays like that for a while. Zayn moves his arm to curl around Harry, which Harry takes as a signal to snuggle even closer into Zayn’s side. Harry’s hands begin to trace lightly against Zayn’s chest, occasionally causing Zayn to shudder, apparently ticklish.

“You’re not sharing me with anyone else y’know.” Harry eventually breaks the silence. He’s not looking at Zayn while he says this, just keeps moving his hands aimlessly across Zayn’s skin.

Zayn looks down at the top of Harry’s head, “What?”

“Don’t,” Harry starts, “don’t act like I haven’t given you all of me.”

And that’s it. Zayn doesn’t offer anything else and neither does Harry. They stay silent, curled up into one another until the drift off into sleep.

-

About an hour and a half later, Zayn raises from his restless sleep. He looks down and sees the head of curls still rested on his chest and lets out a sigh. They’ve never done this. Tonight is just so different to everything they’ve done, everything that Zayn knew and had grown to crave. Yet it’s not a disappointing change. If anything, it may be slightly better. Maybe.

It’s terrifying because it dawns to Zayn that this has elevated to something more profound, more emotional and significant than just a physical act. And what’s more terrifying is that Zayn doesn’t have an issue with that.

He needs a smoke. He needs a stress release because he doesn’t do this. He doesn’t do emotions and affection and he especially doesn’t do it with _Harry Styles._ Zayn manages to slip out of the bed and not wake Harry up, who looks so peaceful in his sleep and Zayn has to physically turn away and not look at him, because it _hurts_. He’s scared he might do something stupid like wake Harry up and tell him that he’s had somewhat of an epiphany and how exactly do you say to someone that you’ve practically been abusing for months now, that _‘hey, I think I might like you a bit’_ or rather, a lot.

So, before he can, he tiptoes as not to wake Harry, _(and fucking hell, stop it, snap out of it and stop_ ) to his discarded clothes and fishes out his packet of smokes. He ducks out to Harry’s balcony, after slipping on a pair of pyjama bottoms he found in the corner of Harry’s room and settles himself on one of the chairs there. It’s still dark out and eerily quiet, but Zayn’s glad because it feels like he’s the only person alive and that’s good because that way he doesn’t have to consider other people’s feelings and things like trying to be quiet so they don’t wake up from their sleep.

Zayn’s managed to smoke less than half of his cigarette before the doors to the balcony slide open to reveal a sleepy looking Harry, who’s curled the duvet around himself. They hold each other’s gaze for about two seconds before Zayn snaps his head to turn back to staring at the distance. Harry trudges forward to another chair on the balcony and plops himself down. He’s also looking out at the horizon, although Zayn’s not sure why either of them are, it’s not a great sight, and even if it were, it’s far too dark to tell. So he spares a sideways glance to Harry and that warm feeling spreads through him again, making him suck harshly on his cigarette because _fucking hell_. This is all so new, and it still feels so overwhelmingly intimate and so, so, so scary.

They don’t speak until Zayn’s finished his second smoke and is contemplating lighting a third one. “Do you ever think about what our life would be like if this had never happened?” Harry suddenly says, still gazing at the distance.

Zayn is staring at Harry now. He doesn’t light his third smoke and his mind starts racing with thoughts of telling Harry that _‘yes, I do think about it.’_ He wants to tell Harry he thinks about stopping his mother from forcing him to go to the audition. Stopping himself from singing _"Let Me Love You."_ And stopping himself from agreeing to be a part of One Direction. But, but he hasn’t thought about that in a long time. Because if had ever stopped any of those events from happening, he wouldn’t have met Harry. Though, he would never admit that out loud, so he finally says, “Yea, sometimes.”

Harry turns to face him, “What would you be doing now if it never happened?”

“I don’t know, probably sleeping.” Zayn mutters out with a shrug.

Harry looks at him rather perplexedly before barking out a hearty laugh, the one where his mouth gapes open and this loud laugh erupts from him. Zayn blushes because of course Harry didn’t mean _now_ as in this precise second and then starts laughing along with Harry.

It’s different; new; and slightly terrifying.

Zayn thinks it’s a start to a new stage in this relationship, so to speak, of theirs.

He thinks he likes it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm immune to my own spelling/grammar mistakes, so yea sorry!
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated


End file.
